


An Heirloom, Six Foot Five Inches

by katajainen



Series: My Season of Kink [5]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dirty Talk, Hand & Finger Kink, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Season of Kink 2018, Size Kink, Some plot mixed in, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-20 22:47:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16147160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katajainen/pseuds/katajainen
Summary: After a dinner date, the three of them end up in Bilbo's flat, because, as he argues, it has the biggest bed. This it thoroughly taken advantage of.





	An Heirloom, Six Foot Five Inches

**Author's Note:**

> Direct continuation to [this story](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13668420).
> 
> Fills the 'Threesomes' square in [my season of kink bingo card](https://katajainen.dreamwidth.org/344.html).
> 
> Extraordinary thanks to saraste for a last-minute beta in the wee hours - I don't deserve you!

‘My place,’ Bilbo said decisively and stole a spoonful of Dwalin’s frozen chocolate cake. ‘The bed is bigger.’ He closed his eyes to better appreciate the flavour, and opened them to see Thorin looking at him with an amused quirk to his eyebrow.

‘What makes you so certain?’

‘Because I know the width to be six feet five inches, and I believe it used to sleep four or five people back in the day– but I don’t suppose there would be much sleeping in it tonight.’ He slowly licked the spoon clean, his breath catching minutely in his chest at the feeling of two people intently watching his mouth.

Thus far, the dinner had been a success; Thorin had turned out to have a taste in wine as excellent as Dwalin’s choice of dessert, and Bilbo had had plenty of opportunities to be grateful for the long tablecloth, what with Thorin’s foot sneaking up to stroke the inside of his ankle, and presently, Dwalin’s large hands holding a dainty cup of very strong coffee.

‘You have a bit there.’ And Dwalin’s fingertip was dry and rough at the corner of Bilbo’s mouth, and his eyes glinted dangerously as he popped the finger in his own mouth. ‘Delicious.’ Bilbo swallowed a whimper, because he had no right, no right to pay him back in his own coin and do it so well.

‘Shall we?’ he managed to say, his voice mostly even.

˜*˜

Dwalin let out a low whistle as he stepped into the hall. ‘They don’t pay you this well for the front-desk job, do they?’

Bilbo barked out a laugh and held the door for Thorin. ‘Hardly. It’s the last of the family fortune, you could say.’

‘Rather much for one on their own.’

‘As I said, why–’

‘Excellent,’ Thorin interrupted him, ‘because then I can do this without fear of being interrupted.’ Without a shred of hesitation, he stepped into Bilbo’s space and pressed him against the now-closed door, kissing him quite single-mindedly.

Bilbo melted into the feeling of being crowded in by the solid bulk of Thorin’s body, hard, except where his fingers dug into his hair at the nape of his neck, the strands escaping their ties like heavy silk against his skin. Thorin’s tongue slipped against his as he pushed closer, his arousal rubbing against Bilbo’s hip through far too much clothing.

‘Bedroom,’ he managed, gasping away from the kiss. He caught a rather bemused-looking Dwalin by the wrist and headed in the right direction, towing the two of them like so many ducklings.

‘Four people, did you say?’ Dwalin asked two minutes later. ‘And that was when, exactly?’

‘Oh, sometime in the 18th century, I think. But is this the time to discuss antiquities?’

‘I’m merely appreciating the set-up. Too bad we left the bag of toys at home, or what, Thorin?’

‘Perhaps so.’ To Bilbo’s wonder, Thorin was regarding his four-poster monstrosity with a look of open admiration on his face, and there was the slightest pink flush upon his cheeks.

‘What do you mean?’

‘You’ve never tied anyone up in here, have you?’ Dwalin asked with a wink.

‘No– not yet at least,’ Bilbo replied, quickly gathering his wits. ‘Another time, perhaps.’ He tilted his head to look up at Dwalin. ‘Unless you’re saying I won’t get to kiss you lest I tie you down.’

‘Now _that_ I would pay to see,’ murmured Thorin, his breath tickling Bilbo’s ear. ‘Your jacket?’

‘Aren’t you the gentleman,’ said Bilbo, tilting his head back for a quick kiss as Thorin slid the garment off him. ‘Well?’ He stuck out his chin at Dwalin, stepping close into his space. ‘I have spent goodness knows how long wondering how it would be like to kiss you, but I do not plan to get a permanent injury for it.’ He rested his hands against Dwalin’s chest, rock-solid and warm beneath the well-fitting T-shirt, and pushed him towards the bed. ‘How about you take a seat?’

It was like climbing a mountain to straddle Dwalin’s lap, Bilbo mused; the thighs beneath his bum were as hard as his chest, and as Bilbo ran his hands down from his shoulders, he felt nothing that would yield.

But his lips were soft as he tilted Bilbo’s chin back with one broad finger and pressed his mouth to his. Bilbo moaned into the kiss, caught unawares by the gentleness when he had expected to be soundly devoured – had hoped it and would have welcomed it, even. Dwalin’s broad hands slid down his back and settled on his bottom like they belonged there. Bilbo let out a small appreciative sound at being summarily groped, and shifted forward, grinding against a hardness that well matched his own.

‘Isn’t that a lovely sight,’ murmured a deep voice right next to his ear, and Bilbo felt light shivers tingle down his spine as Thorin’s hands landed on his shoulders. ‘May I have your waistcoat?’

‘Mmm– yes,’ Bilbo murmured, distracted both by Dwalin’s mouth and stray thoughts about how long he might be able to hold Bilbo’s weight if he stood up. Preferably with no clothes on. ‘Have the shirt, too, if you please.’

‘It would please me.’ Thorin’s hands were deft on the buttons, and he nuzzled at the back of Bilbo’s neck as he untied the ascot, finishing with the barest nip of teeth before he withdrew, presumably to put the clothes away. And Bilbo was suddenly reminded of Thorin’s reaction when he’d gone out to meet him and Dwalin in the parking lot, the quirk of his eyebrow and the hint of a smile as he had taken in Bilbo’s smart trousers, waistcoat and jacket. As if he would have gone to a nice dinner – or anywhere else, for that matter – dressed in a shirt that said ‘Barnabas’ Bowling Spree’ in bright orange letters over the breast pocket.

‘Not fair,’ he gasped, mock-affronted, when Thorin started on his shirt-buttons and Dwalin took it as an open invitation to molest every quarter of an inch of exposed skin. ‘You're two against one.’

Dwalin lifted his head to look at him. ‘Thought you meant to have the two of us, when you asked us to come over,’ he said, so drily that Bilbo had a moment’s panic thinking he was serious.

‘I did,’ he said quickly. ‘I do. It’s only– ah– that I’m halfway naked and you’ve got most of everything still on.’ He pulled at the hem of Dwalin’s T-shirt. ‘Off with this, please.’

‘Well, since you ask so nicely…’ This time, there was a definite twinkle in Dwalin’s steel-blue eyes, and Bilbo had to laugh.

‘Is that so? I can get anything if I ask nicely? Then I would very much like all of us to be naked in my bed, with myself in the middle, please and thank you.’

‘I’m sure that can be arranged,’ said Thorin’s voice behind his back, just as Dwalin barked out a laugh, balled up his T-shirt and tossed it at the approximate direction of the chair.

‘Well?’ he said with an air of challenge and rested his meaty hands on Bilbo’s knees. ‘You’ll need to get up if you want the rest to come off.’

‘Oh. Yes. In a minute,’ Bilbo said distractedly, laying a hand on his arm. He wasn’t quite staring, but lovely things did deserve a moment of admiration, didn’t they?

Dwalin’s muscled torso was heavily tattooed with interlocking geometric designs and text in script Bilbo could not read, partially obscured by the vigorous growth of dark hair starting up at his collarbone, spreading out over his chest then narrowing down to a trickle that disappeared under his belt. His nipples were pierced through with heavy steel-grey bars.

‘You can play with them,’ said Dwalin, catching him staring. Without further prompting, Bilbo put his mouth on one, rolling his tongue over the twin balls at the ends, and the rumbling growl at his ear was like the distant sigh of a volcano. Dwalin’s hands were on his bottom again, pulling him to rock against his erection, and Bilbo could have sworn he was trying to fondle at the cleft of his buttocks through his trousers.

Trousers. Yes, those definitely needed to come off. Bilbo pulled away to say so just as he caught a movement at the corner of his eye, and the mattress dipped slightly. Bilbo turned to look and closed his mouth with a snap, because he might own up to honest ogling, but doing so open-mouthed was a quite different matter.

He could have hardly have been faulted, though, since no-one had any right to be that bloody beautiful.

Thorin was sitting with his back against the carved headboard, or perhaps _lounging_ would have been more apt word to describe the relaxed pose of his tall frame and how the solid strength of his limbs appeared as if purposefully arranged to an aesthetically pleasing composition. He had untied his hair, and it fell down over his shoulders in an artless tumble, partially covering one pebbled nipple. His right hand was between his legs, moving slowly but purposefully over a cock that looked like it would feel lovely in Bilbo’s mouth.

‘Don’t stop on my account,’ he said in that dark-velvet voice that had played Bilbo’s libido like a fiddle for months now, and it was all Bilbo could do not to moan.

‘I’m not,’ he managed, voice mostly even. ‘But I’m feeling somewhat over-dressed for the company and would like to remedy that,’ he continued, hands already on his belt buckle as he scrambled down from Dwalin's lap.

In what felt no time at all, he was curled up on the bed, discovering that Thorin’s cock did indeed feel so lovely in his mouth that it almost made up for the taste of latex. He was just tilting his head back that little extra bit that might help him finally bury his nose to the wonderful black curls at the base when he was interrupted by a hand on his shoulder.

‘Bilbo,’ Thorin said, sounding breathless enough to make Bilbo silently commend himself. ‘I think Dwalin wants to have a word with you.’

With a slight regret, Bilbo pulled off, but with one last firm and lingering sweep of his tongue.

Dwalin had apparently found the lube Bilbo kept in the nightstand with the condoms, and was now holding the tube in his hand, thumb ready to pop the top open. ‘Do you like having fingers up your arse?’ he asked without further preamble, and Bilbo gasped an enthusiastic ‘Yes, please!’ even before his gaze had the opportunity to wander further and discover that heavy cargo trousers could hide some rather hefty sins. Some rather hefty, rather _delicious_ sins. Dwalin’s cock was built to scale with the rest of him, and then some, with a wide head and shaft curving slightly to his left. Bilbo’s stomach did one of its ridiculous backflips as he thought briefly of the other possible uses for the lube.

Having Dwalin smear it between his buttocks before slowly pushing first one, then two thick blunt fingers into him was, of course, an excellent use in and of itself, and distracting enough that Bilbo initially found it hard to concentrate on the task he’d first been interrupted at, namely, discovering what Thorin’s toe-curling voice sounded like when Bilbo swallowed him down to the root. He eventually found a kind of balanced state of bliss, penetrated at both ends and rutting against the coverlet, his ears filled with Thorin’s breathless rendition on the theme of ‘yes,’ ‘please,’ and ‘oh fuck’.

Then Dwalin spoke in a low, thoughtful sort of voice. ‘I wonder,’ he said, fondling at Bilbo’s bottom with the hand that wasn’t busy fingering him, ‘if this would jiggle if I fucked you.’

And Bilbo nearly choked himself on Thorin’s cock, because _goodness gracious YES_. Blinking water from his eyes, he pulled away. ‘I wouldn’t know,’ he rasped, then cleared his throat to little effect. ‘There are more condoms in the nightstand if you care to find out.’

‘I brought my own.’

‘He doesn’t believe anyone would regularly stock an XL size.’ There was a conspiratorial glimmer in Thorin’s piercing eyes.

‘Oh, of course.’ And Bilbo told himself he shouldn’t make a habit of staring, and rolling a condom on really wasn’t that interesting, except, well, perhaps in this particular case. Because oh my, that looked even bigger when encased in latex, didn’t it. Bilbo felt his empty and well-fingered hole give an involuntary twitch.

‘You’re having cold feet or what?’ Dwalin’s words were blunt, but delivered with a smirk that said otherwise.

Bilbo swallowed, his mouth gone suddenly dry. ‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘I only felt it deserved silent ovation.’

Dwalin laughed, warm and deep in his throat. ‘My word, you’re worse than him–’ he pointed his thumb at Thorin.

‘Definitely worse, since I do not drool.’

‘Much.’

‘Neither do I, and I’d very much like you to test that jiggling hypothesis about right now, please.’

‘You ask more nicely, that is for sure,’ Dwalin chuckled. ‘All right – on your back or on your knees?’

‘I think– on my knees. I have a bit of unfinished business with your better half here,’ Bilbo said, squeezing at Thorin’s thigh.

‘You think you can manage that at the same time?’

‘Watch me.’

He hadn’t done this in a good while, though, and Dwalin _was_ generously sized, so Bilbo ended up taking several breathing breaks with his head pillowed on Thorin’s thigh, gentle fingers carding soothingly through his hair. But eventually it was all in, inch by wonderful inch, and Bilbo could feel Dwalin’s hairy thighs press against his bottom. After that it was easy; Bilbo found he didn’t even need to move his head all that much, Dwalin’s thrusts doing most of the work for him. He could relax, not caring what sounds he might make, since his mouth was plugged by the heft of Thorin’s cock as Dwalin plowed into him.

‘You should see this, Thorin,’ Dwalin said. ‘His arse does jiggle–’ he grabbed at Bilbo’s bottom with both hands in a way that would have made him squeak, had he not had his mouth full– ‘and he takes me beautifully. All the way into his snug little hole–’ he gave a particularly sharp thrust that made Bilbo moan around Thorin’s cock as his knees threatened to give out.

‘Fuck– Dwalin, I’m–’ Thorin gasped brokenly right before his fingers tightened in Bilbo’s hair and his cock pulsed in his mouth. Bilbo momentarily regretted missing the taste, but not for long, since the sight of Thorin with his head thrown back, riding out his peak in loud, sobbing gasps was quite enough to make his own unattended arousal throb in sympathy.

Panting, he pulled his mouth free of Thorin’s softening erection, propping himself up on one elbow to reach his own, but then Dwalin wound his arm around him, pulling him up against his chest. The changed angle made Bilbo whimper aloud, and he was immediately glad for the fact that Dwalin seemed perfectly happy to hold up his weight for him.

‘Now,’ he growled into Bilbo’s ear, beard and lips brushing at the sensitive skin. ‘Will you come on my cock if I ask nicely?’ And Bilbo meant to say yes, but the word was hopelessly garbled into a strangled moan as Dwalin took a hold of his cock, and _by all that’s holy_ , his hand was big enough to cover all of it. He didn’t last long like that, wonderfully manhandled and pounded into with the largest cock he’d ever seen in the flesh, his release pumped out of him in long spurts landing over his own stomach and chest.

‘That’s it,’ Dwalin husked into his ear, ‘that’s what I wanted. Your lovely jiggling arse clenching up so tight around my cock.’ And he was surprisingly quiet as he came, the way avalanches are.

˜*˜

An hour later, Bilbo woke up very pleasantly sandwiched between two large, solidly muscled bodies. Dwalin was snoring, but Thorin slept quietly, his long slow breaths tickling at the back of Bilbo’s neck. He was truly loath to leave them, but he was ravenously hungry, and wouldn’t be able to sleep before he did something about that.

The other two eventually gravitated into the kitchen after him, and so Bilbo ended up making emergency bruschettas – well, beans on toast with a feta spread, if you didn’t want to be too fancy about it – with a feeling of Dwalin’s eyes boring holes into his back, and Thorin, well, _looming,_ was probably the word for it.

‘Shoo,’ he said, waving his hand. ‘I need to get to the fridge.’ And that was the thing – he had a six-ingredient recipe, but he kept forgetting things. It wasn’t _that_ long since he last had someone over to justify his brain turning into mush, so it must be this _presence_ in his kitchen; knowing Dwalin was sitting in the chair the wrong way around, wearing nothing but his boxer shorts and tee, having to smell Thorin’s cologne as he pulled open the fridge and took out the yoghurt. He gave a small incredulous huff as his cock gave a feeble twitch in his trousers. For heaven’s sake, he was hardly eighteen anymore!

Somehow the table had got set without him noticing, and Bilbo found himself humming as he doled out the beans on the grilled bread.

‘So,’ said Dwalin when Bilbo had barely finished his first slice. ‘What’s this then? You said there was a story to go with it.’ He pushed a business card across the dining room table, and Bilbo didn’t need to look to know it was his own. ‘ _Bilbo Baggins, Editor-in-chief._ Yet you work the front desk at Bandobras’ Bowling Spree.’

Bilbo took a fortifying sip of his tea. The other two looked intently at him, Dwalin wearing his customary frown with a side order of puzzlement, and Thorin– Thorin looked intrigued.

‘Well,’ Bilbo began. ‘I take it neither of you has never heard of the Green Door Books.’ He tapped on the card, and got two matching headshakes.

‘It was my father’s publishing business, although it was my mother who made a success out of it. Bit of a family effort, you see.’ He paused, curling his fingers around the warm china. ‘The company went under the hammer almost two years ago. I’ve had some freelance work since then, but the ends got to meet somehow.’ He feigned a shrug. ‘Not much of a story, I’m afraid.’

‘Not, if you’re not telling all of it,’ said Thorin, fixing him with his stare. ‘Perhaps another time.’

‘Perhaps,’ Bilbo agreed, grateful that he did not insist, and instantly giddy with even a vague possibility of ‘another time’.

‘For myself, I would hear of the four – or five – people you said used to sleep in that big bed of yours,’ said Dwalin.

‘Oh, that. It would have been multiple sets of people – not at the same time, obviously – it has been in the family for quite a while. How about–’ he began, then paused, partially for effect, and partially for gathering his wits and deciding it was too late to back down anyway– ‘how about I tell it on-site, as it were? If you two would care to spend the rest of the night, that is.’

The pair of them shared a quick look, then Dwalin gave him a genuine smile. ‘You only needed to ask.’


End file.
